Praying and Working

The past few days have been really meaningful for me. God has given me renewed encouragement and hope. Plus, I've just gotten to rest. Sometimes a brother just needs a nap.

Somtimes I just need to be reminded why I'm doing what I'm doing. Ultimately, I'm a Christian who wants to be used by God to change lives on an eternal level, primarily through the power of the Gospel, and also through education. Thinking about the young men and women I work with daily and praying about the various challenges they constantly encounter led me to a song and a passage of Scripture that express the tension between my working towards God's goal, and God's working towards His goal.

This tension was first summed up by the church father, Ignatius: "Work as if everything depends on you. Pray as if everything depends on God."

Despite every effort I make to effect change in young lives, we must always be aware that Jesus's desire for and pursuit of their hearts are greater than ours will ever be.

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You're the God of this City
You're the King of these people
You're the Lord of this nation

You're the Light in this darkness
You're the Hope to the hopeless
You're the Peace to the restless

There is no one like our God
There is no one like our God

For greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this City
Greater thing have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done in this City

"God of This City" ~Chris Tomlin

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6 "Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?

7 Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

8 Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness [a] will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.

9 Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
"If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

10 and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.

11 The LORD will guide you always;
he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land
and will strengthen your frame.
You will be like a well-watered garden,
like a spring whose waters never fail.

12 Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins
and will raise up the age-old foundations;
you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,
Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.

~Psalm 58:6-12

You Cannot Be Serious!

Two of my students said things to me today that had me channeling my inner John McEnroe. For those of you not familiar with the reference, McEnroe was a tennis icon of the 1970s and 80s who was known for his acumen in the doubles game, his phenomenal net play, being left-handed, and most of all, for possessing a temper with a bit of a short fuse. He made famous the phrase which I used for this post's title.

The first thing I heard from one of my students happened when I was talking with him about his ambitions in high school and his career aspirations. It wasn't a confrontational conversation -- I was talking with him because he had missed a couple of assignments and those consequences had shown up on his most recent test. On top of the fact that he's not the hardest worker in the class, this incident made me ask him about his motivation, what he wants to get out of high school, and what field he would like to work in someday.

His response?

"I'm gonna try to file for disability because of my ADHD and broken ribs."

YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS!

1) Filing for disability, as a career goal, is less than optimal.
2) ADHD is treatable.
3) Broken ribs heal.
4) What the heck?

The next comment came from another student in the same class. We were working on a partial area problem. Their task was to calculate the area of a square, and subtract the area of an inscribed circle in order to find the area of the remaining four corners. After we had already figured out that the square's area is 64 and the circle's area was 50.74, all that was left was to subtract one from the other. Here's how the next exchange went:

~~~~~~~~~
ME: Alright [Bob], we've got the two areas... now we need to subtract. What's 64 minus 50.74?

[BOB]: I dunno.

ME: You've got a big, beautiful, expensive calculator in front of you... just tap in 64 minus 50.74.

[BOB]: Man, that's too much.

ME: (stunned expression)
~~~~~~~~

YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS!

1) You learned to subtract by borrowing in 2nd and 3rd grade.
2) I know for a fact that your thumbs work because you use them to text message your friends like it's your job.
3) What the heck?

When I stepped back from these situations and screwed my head back onto my shoulders, I was able to see the situation more clearly. My task is two-fold:

1) Cast a vision
2) Raise my expectations

If we have failed our students in any area, and if we absolutely MUST succeed in any area, it is these two. I am as guilty of this crime as anyone else. Upon seeing a poor test score or assignment or performance from a student, my all-too-common instinct is to lower my expectations. Make it easier. Put the cookies on a lower shelf.

Instead of saying to them, "There you are. Make yourself at home right where you are. I'll see to it that it's okay for you to stay there," I should be yanking them upward, looking them in the eyes, and saying, "You're not there yet, but you can be. You're intelligent, gifted, and capable of succeeding. This is how you do it."

Instead of saying, "Make sure you lock down a job at Burger King, just in case you flunk out of community college," I should be taking them on college campus tours, saying, "When you're choosing a major, make sure you're aware of the careers held by professionals with those same majors. That will give you an idea of some common options you'll have after studying that field."

Those two comments by my students weren't the issue... they were just symptoms. But they brought into sharp focus the crying need for our students to sense a higher calling than squeezing out low C's on their report cards.

Lost in Translation

Remember that scene in "Titanic"? You know, the one where Rose and Jack are running through the ship once everyone knows it's sinking?

Hold on...

Okay, I had to remove my manhood temporarily and place it in its cage while I use a "Titanic" analogy. It was trying to get away.

Anyway, Rose and Jack are running through the ship trying find a lifeboat or something, but the part I'm talking about is when they pass an immigrant family trying to read a sign with the evacuation map printed on it. They are frantically flipping through an English-to-Russian dictionary in order to decipher the words and escape to safety.

We only see them for a couple of seconds, but that family made an impression on me. Learning a new language is difficult and frustrating on its own. I tried to imagine compressing the stress of an entire year's worth of learning into 30 seconds, and adding to that the stress and panic of a life-or-death situation. It must be a terrifying and disheartening feeling. To empathize, I opened my new baby's dresser, and assembled it using the German directions. I'm proud to say the dresser works just fine, as long as you have a pick axe handy with which to open it.

I've been thinking about this more lately, after receiving the latest statistics regarding my school's ethnic composition. 15% of our students are of Hispanic origin, most of them classified ESL or ELL or LEP or whatever the most current acronym is for not having grown up in an English-speaking home. I have about 10 of these students spread over my three classes, and from my conversations with Hoek, he has an even greater percentage.

Most high school students have little love for math in the first place. I wonder how much more frustrating it is trying to learn math in a foreign language. Using what broken Spanish I know (I want to buy some butter, where is the airport, etc.), I've tried desperately to help my ELL students grasp the new concepts of geometry. Despite my own shortcomings, I see the relief in their faces when they are able to digest congruent angles and isosceles triangles by using familiar words.

More and more, God has been growing my heart for these students. Someone once said to me that, in the United States, you can be a missionary to the nations without leaving home... How true. I pray that God would give me not only linguistic skill, but a heart of compassion and availability to help meet their needs.

Another Brick in the Wall

Out for a morning stroll, a man happened to pass by a large construction site. Three workers were toiling under the hot sun, laying brick together along a forty-foot-long wall.

"What are you doing?", the man inquired of the first worker.

"What does it look like, buddy? I'm laying brick. Real thrilling, huh?", replied the man with no small hint of sarcasm.

Curious, the man approached the next worker. "What are you doing?", he repeated.

"Well, I'm putting in a foundation, and then we'll move on to the first floor walls," the 2nd worker said, gesturing toward where the next level would be located.

Finally, the man approached the last worker and asked him, "What are you doing?"

The worker turned to the man with a smile beaming from his soiled and sweaty face. "I'm building a great cathedral that will honor God and reflect His glory for as long as it stands. When it's finished, I hope you'll attend our first worship service here."

Three workers attending to the same task. Three different perspectives on the task's purpose. Which worker do you think enjoyed his job? Which do you think showed up on time every day, eager to start the day's labor? Which do you think made his friends wonder if they, too, should pursue a job in construction?

Just to refresh your memory, I'm a math teacher. Specifically, I teach geometry. Some of you reading this may have thrown up in your mouth a little bit just from reading that word. I realize that many students out there would rather take "History of 19th Century Dental Procedures" than sit through a semester of math, and by now, I know better than to try to make math everyone's favorite subject.

Instead, my desire is that every student would realize what the little tasks amount to in the long run. Learning to simplify radicals and prove congruent triangles must seem like brick-laying to many students -- in fact, some of them would KILL for the chance to lay brick instead of labeling vertical angles. But I yearn for them to, like the 3rd builder, recognize the small tasks as necessary steps toward building something greater and grander, of which they'll enjoy the fruits for the rest of their lives. I wish, when they are balancing an equation, or conjugating verbs, or summarizing Brown v. Board of Education, that they could envision themselves modeling wind shear for an aircraft, writing an op-ed for the Times, or preparing an opening statement to defend their client.

An ancient proverb tells us, "When vision is lacking, the people perish." How true! I firmly believe that if every student could have a "Back to the Future" moment, and see the end results of so many small decisions, we would see many more self-motivated learners. This old French guy said it best:

"If you want to build a ship, don’t drum up the men to gather wood, divide the work and give orders. Instead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea."
~Antoine de Saint-Exupery

A Parable from the Greatest Movie Ever

“Intelligence plus character – that is the goal of true education.”
~Martin Luther King, Jr.

I could not agree more.

Just about every male in America between the ages of 22 and 35 owns a copy of the movie "Braveheart". Watching that movie amounts to some sort of masculinity ritual in many households. I’m thinking of incorporating it into a hyper-macho Bar Mitzvah when my sons turn 13.

Towards the beginning of the movie, set in medieval Scotland, young William Wallace, the protagonist, becomes an orphan when his father and older brother are killed in a battle with their British occupiers. At the funeral, William is adopted by his Uncle Argyle – who, I swear, is someone’s vision of what Ernest Hemingway would have looked like if he was born in Edinburgh in A.D. 1080.

Later, William is studying his uncle’s claymore, a gigantic Scottish broad sword. (Ladies, if you are ever stuck on what to get your husband for his birthday or Christmas, get him a sword. A real one. It’s a guaranteed hit.) Argyle indulges young William, allowing him to feel the sword's weight and power, before taking it back from him. What follows is one of the great lines in cinematic history:

ARGYLE: First, learn to use this. (Thumps William on the forehead.) Then, I’ll teach you to use... this. (SCHING! Removes the sword from its scabbard.)

The message is clear. A sword has weight, power, and strength. But that power will be useless at best, and destructive at worst, in the hands of someone who has not been taught to use it properly.

Education is much the same as the sword of Wallace’s youth. The power to use language eloquently and persuade people with words can be a blessing or a curse, depending on the man or woman who wields those words. A keen understanding of biochemistry can cure a disease, or create a weapon out of it. As educators, we must not be so open-minded that we assume that every application of knowledge is a noble one. Great evil can and has been wrought from a mind unfettered by moral concerns.

As an educator, I am committed to shaping not only the mind, but also the conscience.

Wait 'til next year...

"Alright, Mr. Jones, I'll be there," said Tamara.

She then walked out of my classroom after 2nd period, and
I haven't seen her since.

Just to remove any doubt, Tamara hasn't had anything tragic happen to
her -- not in a CTU-Jack-Bauer crisis kind of way. Tamara came into my
geometry class this past spring as one of the most naturally talented,
mathematically gifted students I have ever taught. Algebra came easily
to her, and she had no problem applying it to concepts like
supplementary angles and congruent line segments... even after missing
the first week of classes. To put that in perspective, I teach in a
four-period block school, so she actually missed the equivalent of ten
standard classes.

After two weeks of relatively steady attendance, Tamara started missing
about two days of class per week. Later she was missing three,
sometimes four, classes per week. About six weeks into the semester, I
pulled Tamara aside to talk to her about her slipping grades and
attendance.

"Tamara, somehow you're still holding down a B average on your tests,
but your missing homework grades are going to start affecting your
performance. I mean, you're not getting to practice to new concepts,
either in class or at home."

Tamara gave a reluctant smile. "I know, Mr. Jones... it's just that I
had a baby this past Christmas, and most days I can't get anyone to
watch her. I can only come to school when my mom can get off of work."

What do you say to that?

I tried.

"Tamara, based on your raw talent for math, you can still
make it in this class. I think you're looking at a possible 'B'. A 'C'
is more likely, but I just want you to know your range."

"I know... I've always been good at math. I really want to make this
work," Tamara replied.

"Here's my offer," I said. "If you can make it to at least two days of
school per week, I'll make sure I stay after school with you every day
that you come in order to catch you up on what you miss."

"Okay."

"If you can do that... well, I can't make any guarantees, but you're
smart enough to make it. Can you be here on Thursday, in class and
after school?", I finished.

"Alright, Mr. Jones, I'll be there."

Why I Teach

My name is Matt, and I love teaching.

Obviously, this is a blog by two high school teachers, so naturally this half of the blog’s authorship has some inkling of passion for teaching. But when I say that I love teaching, I mean that it’s a lifestyle for me.

My wife, Jessica, thinks my penchant for instruction is, at different times, charming, funny, quirky, and downright irritating. When she asks me to teach her a new board game – this past Wednesday, it was “RISK”, my all-time favorite – she now knows she is delving into a serious engagement that may very well occupy our entire evening. For more on the hazards of “teaching” your spouse, see Hoek’s post on leaving the teacher at work.

(For all you RISK fans out there, wondering how it turned out… she made the mistake of conceding South America and Australia to me in consecutive turns while she hammered away at North America. I crushed her two turns later.)

Now, to make some use of that digression: the joy and thrill of my life is the moment, great or small, when a student gets it. Hopefully, you have had the privilege at least once in your life to experience this moment for yourself and/or witness it in someone else. It is the moment when the forehead transitions from wrinkled to smooth. The eyebrows, once scrunched and drawn together in confusion, now lift up with surprise and relief. The dull glaze falls from the eyes, and they are filled with recognition and resolution. These moments of learning are food for a teacher’s soul, and I am no exception.

My point is that while I have a love for my students and a desire to see their destinies realized, my desire to teach has a very mercenary component. I enjoy it, and get a kick out of it.

On the other side of the same coin is the calling that I feel toward teaching. God has created me to be a teacher, and I can’t seem to do anything else.

Trying to think of an analogy, I came up with Casey, the golden retriever up with whom I grew. (Thank you, Winston Churchill.) If you’ve ever owned a retriever, you know very well how they earned their moniker. They retrieve stuff all the dang time. Shoes are the stereotypical item of choice, but lacking that, Casey would bring us stuffed animals, baseball gloves, remote controls, pillows… anything he could wrap his mouth around. And just try to play a game of Frisbee with him around. He never had as much fun as when he was chasing down a long throw from my dad.

When you looked at Casey, you knew two things:
1)God created that dog to go get stuff and bring it back.
2)He loved doing that more than anything else.

Whether I’m fulfilling my calling well will be up to my peers and principals and ultimately my Lord. For now, I’m content doing what I was created for as best I know how.

My name is Matt, and I love teaching. I look forward to sharing my life and stories with you.